


Sacrifice

by MelindaCoulson4



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Super Angst, be prepared to cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:24:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelindaCoulson4/pseuds/MelindaCoulson4
Summary: Just how far was Phil Coulson willing to go for Melinda May?  Takes place after 4x13





	

**Author's Note:**

> May’s pov
> 
> Warning: the descriptions in this may be gruesome to some people.

 

She'd long ago mastered the skill of waking up while keeping her eyes closed. She was so used to it now, it was almost second nature.   
  
She has no idea where she is right now. It's difficult to orient yourself with your eyes closed. It takes a lot of time.   
  
_Beeping._ She hears beeping. She's lying in a bed with blankets tucked around her torso and legs. There are things attached to her skin. She can sense things on the top of her hands and on her chest. Someone is monitoring her. The last thing she remembers is waking up and finding out that she was in that damn closet at Radcliffe's. That son of a bitch had her as his prisoner with the help of his robot assistant. AIDA had choked her and drugged her when she had tried escaping.   
  
After that, the dream-like simulations had started. May had thought that she had successfully escaped more than ten times until something so peculiar had happened that caused her to figure out that she was in a simulation. The first time, was when AIDA had stabbed her in the neck with a scalpel, yet she was still able to run around like nothing had happened. Another time, she had reached the front door of the house, opened it, and pure blackness greeted her. There was nothing for miles, just plain empty space.   
  
Was this a dream too?  
  
The rest of the times had felt exactly like this in the beginning. She woke up, feeling trapped and violated, then tried breaking out.   
  
The only difference now was that the feeling of being trapped has dissipated. There were no restraints around her wrists or her ankles and no helmet on her head. She was free to move, free to run.   
  
As she prepares herself to spring out of the bed a quiet sob reaches her ears. The sound makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She's not alone. There's someone here.....someone watching her.   
  
_Focus on regulating your breathing.  Keep it calm._    
  
She decides to blind-side the person. Suddenly, she sits up while opening her eyes and reaches for the person.   
  
She immediately feels her head start to swim and her vision going dark. She did not think that through. She groans, but is still able to latch on to the person's wrist. She squeezes tightly with the intent to pull the person closer to her body and knock him or her out.   
  
What she doesn't expect is for the person in front of her to be Daisy.   
  
"It's me. It's just me," Daisy says, thoroughly shell-shocked.   
  
May automatically relaxes. She releases her grip on Daisy's wrist and sits crisscross on the bed. She takes a deep breath, opening her eyes again only to find her vision still blurry. She's barely able to see Daisy's figure or the bed sheets clearly. Her eyes are so hot and itchy. It's hard to hold them open even for a second. They keep blinking uncontrollably, which agitates her even more. Her lips and mouth are so dry that she can barely stand it. She needs a drink. "Water," she requests, coughing in response to the irritation in her throat. Her voice sounds crackly and rough. She definitely needs that drink.  
  
Daisy gets up from her seat at the foot of the bed and that's all that May sees before she has to squeeze her eyes shut. She can't track Daisy's movements; her eyes feel like they're burning.   
  
"You're safe, May. You're home," she hears Daisy say.   
  
After some fumbling around by Daisy, May feels the texture of a styrofoam cup pressing against her knuckles.   
  
She grabs it and holds it tightly in between her two hands. She pries one eye open to peak at the straw of the cup and then immediately closes the eye again. She guides the straw into her mouth and slurps up the liquid. It's cold, refreshing, and exactly what she needs right now. May takes her time drinking the water with her body already starting to feel better.  
  
They sit in silence, which is extremely odd and very unlike Daisy.   
  
"What happened?" May asks, finally able to get a glimpse of Daisy with clear vision. The sight that greets her is troubling. Daisy looks terrible, haggard almost as if she's aged a decade since May last saw her. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, as if she's been crying for days. Her face appears sickly and pale. Her body frail and thin, hunched over in the chair that she's sitting on.    
  
"Aida took you," Daisy mumbles. Daisy stares at her wide-eyed, like she's never seen her before today.   
  
Something else is going on; it's obvious by the way Daisy is acting. She spots Daisy's hand clutching the blanket on her bed. Her knuckles appear stark white, almost matching the color of the blanket. She's holding something back.   
  
"What else?" May asks softly, trying to comfort Daisy.   
  
"What?" Daisy quickly responds, still refusing to meet her eyes.   
  
"What else happened?" She asks again. She watches intently as Daisy's eyes close, taking longer than necessary to blink.  
  
Daisy swallows hard. "Um. I...I don't exactly know how to say this." She pauses, eyes watering. "So..." She stops again and shakes her head. Then, finally meeting May's eyes she finishes. "He's dead."   
  
All of the air in her lungs feels like it simultaneously bursts out of her body. She can barely breathe. The beeping on the heart rate monitor increases as her heart rate skyrockets in her chest. No. No, he can't be dead. She somehow instinctively knows who Daisy is talking about before she even asks for the clarification. "Who?"  
  
_Please don't say what I think you're going to say. Please. Please. Please._    
  
"Coulson," Daisy answers, voice trembling.   
  
Her nose burns. Her whole face begins tingling. Blood roars in her ears. "How?” she barely gets out. This can't be real.   
  
Daisy crosses her arms, covering her stomach. The tears that she had been holding back now silently fall from her bloodshot eyes. "He...One of the guys that hooked up with Radcliffe. The guy just shot him right in the head."   
  
She wants to sob, but she can't. She has to hear this. "How did they get him?"  
  
Daisy's eyes immediately drop to the floor. A couple of pieces of hair fall in front of her face. She stays silent.  
  
"Daisy!" May snaps.  
  
"He traded himself....," she trails off, but May knows what she isn't saying. He traded himself...for _her_. 

May immediately kicks the blankets off of her body and scoots herself to the side of the bed. She has to get out of here. She has to see him with her own eyes.  
“What are you doing?” Daisy stares at her in shock.  
  
She rips all of the tubing and wiring off of her arms and chest, wincing slightly at the stinging pain. “I want to see him,” she says.   
  
"May. You're not in good condition," Daisy objects, following close behind.   
  
"Try and stop me," she growls.  
  
Daisy could. May knows it. They both know it, but Daisy wouldn't dare try using her powers on her now. May knew that Daisy still had regret for when SHIELD had tried to make peace with the inhumans. She and Daisy got into that fight and Daisy ended up knocking her out. It was still a sore subject between them that they never brought up.  
  
If she had to, she would bring it up now just to get Daisy to back down.   
  
But Daisy simply moved away, letting her walk right out of the SHIELD recovery room.   
  
\--------------------   
  
When she walks into the room where they are keeping his body, she quickly figures out that she’s not properly prepared for this.  Her breath catches in her chest when she spots the dark blue sheet covering the body on the table, in the middle of the room.  She knows that it’s him….its Phil. Logically, she knows. But her heart can’t accept that he’s beneath that sheet.   
  
She takes a hesitant step towards the table. It was eerily quiet, cold, and dark in this room. Shivers ran through her body as she tries moving forward. She hadn’t anticipated how difficult walking would be. It feels like all of the strength has been drained out of her body. Her gait was unsteady and weak. She doesn’t even know how long it’s been since she last walked on her own. How long had Radcliffe and AIDA been drugging her?     
  
Her nerves began acting up, causing her knees to wobble even more as she walked. Her breathing wasn’t any better, but she just couldn’t control the erratic beating of her heart. She didn’t think she could do this. She didn’t want to know what he looked like under that sheet. Couldn’t she live in ignorant bliss for a couple more minutes….before her world would turn upside down?  
  
Maybe if she wishes hard enough it would turn out to be someone else.  She would lift that sheet up and find someone else lying there, lifeless. Maybe they all made a mistake. Yes, that had to be it. They didn’t know what they were talking about. Nevertheless, she still had to see who is under that sheet with her own eyes.  
  
Her palm lands on the metal surface of the table, inches from the body.  She had to reach out and lean on it for support. She barely had any strength left to hold herself upright.  
  
As she stood there, staring at the outline of the body under the sheet, time seemed to freeze. She couldn’t bring herself to move. If she didn’t move, she wouldn’t have to see Phil’s body. Just the thought of seeing him _dead_ made her physically ill. Her stomach muscles began twitching uncontrollably from the image in her mind.  
  
After scrutinizing the outline of the body for an insurmountable amount of time, she finally has built up the courage to reach for the sheet.  She grasps it tightly, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She has to be strong despite the fear coursing through her veins.  She has to do this for Phil. He deserves nothing less.  
 

She pulls the sheet back, revealing the body. A strangled sob bubbles up from her throat at the sight. The man lying on the table was Phil. She automatically turns her head away due to the wave of sickness that passes over her. She can't process it; she can't even begin to believe it.   
  
She blinks hard, hoping that her eyes were just playing some cruel trick on her. Turning back towards the body, she's faced with the same image as before. It didn't work; it wasn't just something out of a nightmare. It was real. It was Phil, still there, almost like he is mimicking being asleep. But that's a lie, she knows, he'll never open his eyes again. 

Her eyes drop to his hand, drawn to the discoloration. His knuckles are covered in cuts. They’re bruised and raw. She reaches her hand out for his own, yet freezes in midair. She wants to touch him, but she's terrified. The most she can allow herself is a slight brush to the back of his hand. His lack of reaction makes her head pound.   
  
He's still dressed in his clothes. They're all black: a jacket, pants, and boots. His clothes scream combat; he was prepared for a fight.

Her eyes study the rest of his body, particularly, his face. Her gaze is drawn to his right eye. The skin around it had begun to swell. It was a deep shade of red and she could see a mix of purple and blue bruising where someone’s knuckles must have made contact with his cheek bone.

She lightly ran her fingertips over his cheek, afraid of hurting him even though it wasn’t possible. He must've taken a punch or had gotten into some kind of fight. _And then what? They just killed him? Shot him right in the head after that?_  
  
His head. She needed to see. She had to see it with her own eyes, the cause of all of this. One bullet to the head and then he was gone, taken from her forever.   
  
She focuses on his head, looking for the bullet wound. It's there, on the right side of his head. The left side of his head appeared untouched. He looked perfectly fine when she stood to his left, like he was sleeping. But, once she moved to the right, she saw the damage. A circular hole that looked like it was drilled into his head stood out. That was the entry point of the bullet. She shudders, turning away, unable to stare at it any longer.   
  
"Please tell me it didn't hurt. I never asked for you to protect me, but you never listen," she says aloud, lips trembling.  
  
All she could think about was how much regret she had. Regret for words unsaid, lack of action, and wasted time. He's now gone forever. He wouldn’t get another chance to come back like the last time. They both already wasted his chance.   
  
They wouldn’t ever have a first kiss. She wouldn’t ever be able to press her body against his just to know what it felt like or to grab his hand when she needed comfort or reassurance. She would never be able to share with him how much she absolutely loves him.  
  
She gasps, overwhelmed by all of the things they'll never be able to say and do together. She collapses, knees banging against the tile floor. Her face began burning from the hot, rapid tears cascading down her face. She presses her forehead against the table, just to feel some relief. Being in this room felt suffocating, she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. She couldn’t control the flow of tears. They kept falling from her eyes like a waterfall.  

  
After a solid twenty minutes of crying, she feels completely empty and numb. All she can do is stare at the drain on the floor. There was a consistent dripping of water coming from the table where Phil’s body was. She lifts her head and that’s when she notices it. They have his body resting over ice…..to keep him from decomposing. That word makes her stomach clench. She shakes her head in disbelief. _How? How could he just waste away?_ "No," she whispers.

  
That's when the anger creeps up. She clenches her fist. He didn't have the right to do what he did. She didn't want to be saved if this was the cost. "You idiot. Why would you do that?" She whispers, heart broken. She lifts herself up on shaky legs in order to scrutinize his face. "Do you hear me, Phil?!? This wasn't supposed to happen," she tells him. She smacks her hand against the table. "Not before-," she inhales sharply. A wave of regret hits her again.

  
She cups her hand over her mouth to stop herself from throwing up. Tears begin flowing freely from her eyes again. They roll down her cheeks and drop onto the table. She leans over slightly so that she can study his face, to memorize it.   


She reaches out and caresses his cheek. He’s cold, but her palm is warm. They always were opposites.   
  
The hardest part about all of this is not being able to gaze into his deep blue eyes. They were always shinning with amusement. Her favorite thing was when he smiled. She loved watching the wrinkles around his eyelids from all of his years of smiling.   
  
"I'm so sorry," she cries.

This hurts; fuck, it hurts so much. It feels like someone keeps stabbing her heart over and over again with a knife.   
  
There's so much she wants to say, but there's a lump in her throat and her eyes won't stop watering. She can’t get a hold of herself.

Instead of using words, she decides to kiss him. It’s something she had always wanted to do.   


She leans down and presses her lips firmly to his, wanting to memorize how his felt. It wasn’t what she was expecting. His lips were dry and stiff. There was no spark, no nothing. She pulls away quickly, frightened by the lack of movement or the sensation of warm breath hitting her face. For a cursed moment, she forgot. She forgot that she didn't have to worry about his breathing anymore. She didn't have to worry about blocking his airway because he didn't need to breathe anymore. He couldn't breathe anymore. He wouldn't ever do anything again.   
  
The hairs above his lip had tickled her top lip. He must've been distracted by her abduction because he never let that hair grow out. It only occurred when he was deeply invested in a case, when he didn't have the luxury of taking the time to shave. He didn't like having any hair on his face, she knew. Years ago, when they worked together she would sometimes see him rubbing at his upper lip. It was a tick that he had. He never realized it until one day she pointed it out to him. She had teased him about growing it out, bringing back "the stache". That’s what she had named his mustache when he had it. He had chuckled and flashed her a wide grin. Then, proceeded to stare at her like she was the only person in the world. Oh how she loved when he did that. It made her feel wanted. It was home.

They had moments like that, back then. When she would get caught up his gaze and forget that she was married to Andrew. She wouldn't dare cheat on Andrew; she loved him. But there was just something about Phil. She was just inexplicably drawn to him. It was a grey area that they had never dared to talk about. They had always had that natural chemistry. At the time, she had naively thought that it was just a normal thing that happened between best friends: that there would always be some type of longing. But now, she knew better. She knew that it was attraction, chemistry, and love.   
  
They had been getting back to that. They were moving forward; it seemed like there was a future goal that they were getting closer to achieving. Both of them were getting bolder with the flirting and confessions.   
  
_“You're the only one I trust,”_ he had told her. 

  
_“I saw you,”_ she had admitted to him. She hadn't even gotten the chance to tell him what she meant. He was so curious, but she was afraid to tell him. She was afraid for how he would react if she told him that she saw them together. And look where it got her.   
  
_“When this is over…it’s time. We are cracking open that bottle.”_  
  
Why did they keep waiting? They had so many opportunities. They had been making plans. 

But this cruel world had taken him before they were ready. Before she was ready to give him up and let him go. 

  
_Why? Why? Why him? Why now?_    
  
She just went through this, when he and Fitz were transported to the other dimension by Eli Morrow. That was her chance and she missed it. Why didn't she just kiss him right then? When he came back through that portal, she had him right there. He was standing right in front of her. Her hands were grasping his shoulders and she was so relieved that he was back. She could've just leaned in and kissed him.    
  
What was their last moment together? She can’t even remember the last thing that she said to him.

Did he know? Did he know how much she loves him? In the end, she hopes he did.  
  
"I love you," she tells him now, letting out a noise of pure emotional torture. "I'm so in love with you," she gasps, feeling a sense of relief for finally saying those words. She feels overloaded with emotion for him. There are so many things that he deserved to hear from her, but she felt short of breath and lightheaded again.  
  
"How am I supposed to live without you?" she questions, heartbroken.

She reaches over and grabs his hand, cradling it in her own. She then slowly lowers herself to the ground again. And that’s how she stays, for hours. Until Daisy walks in hesitantly, to find her collapsed on the ground, cheeks damp, and hand still clutching Phil’s.

 

 

She never wants to let go.

 

//end//

 

_He would die for her; they all knew. They just never expected it to actually happen._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
